


If I Die Young

by Osservare



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Character Death, GTA AU, M/M, Raychael - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4843067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osservare/pseuds/Osservare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off the prompt "Person A covered by Person B's blood after they died in Person A's arms. Beta'd by lostinthehaywoods/teasingit.</p>
<p>Michael and Ray were supposed to go on a routine visit to the new division of Fake AH. With luggage strapped to the top of the car and "All Star" blasting down the highway. But a car accident and gunfight later and the crew is down one member.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Die Young

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. 

It was just going to be a simple drive north of Los Santos. They were going to go see how the new Funhaus division was doing, set up a discrete location in the new run-down property out in Blaine County to discuss some heist semantics.

Despite how fond Michael was of his chrome Adder and the beloved crew car, the two took Ray’s dinky Panto with luggage on top and bedazzled dollar-sign wheels. Okay, maybe it wasn’t as clandestine as the two initially thought, but the whole road-trip feeling was strong between the two. (The tiny car didn’t allow much for weapons, but this was just a visitation, nothing more.

But then, cruising through the two-lane straightaways in Sandy Shores pushing twenty over the speed limit, Ray couldn’t have predicted the swerving monster truck charging from the opposite direction. Both men gripped their seats tightly as the smaller car was easily flipped and battered through the air, crunching loudly upon impact with the dry ground. 

When Michael looked over at the driver’s seat, he saw Ray slowly regaining his bearings, gripping his head where a small gash bled. The car was upside-down, wheels to the sky and luggage scattered about the road behind them. As the two hastily unbuckled, Michael heard the metallic clank of the monster truck’s doors slamming shut.

Crawling through the shattered window, Michael looked up at the passengers of the truck. Their faces blurred from his view as his eyes focused on the barrel of a shotgun aimed directly at him. With a quick glance, Michael found that Ray was also in a compromising position.

Peering around the battered form of the tipped brown car, Michael could see Ray curled on the ground, one hand still at his head, the other clutching his side as a dusty boot mercilessly kicked at his ribs and stomach. The owner of said boot was none other than an O’Neill brother, with henchmen flanking his sides. He could see Ray slowly reach inside his jacket as the brute continued to hound him, Michael’s captor watching giddily at his boss while still pointing his weapon at Mogar’s head. 

With his arms tucked painfully under him, Michael also began to reach for some hidden grenades he had tucked in his pockets, awaiting Ray’s wordless signal to turn the situation back on their side. No one messed with the Fake AH crew.

But then there was a shot and a pained sound. It wasn’t the O’Neill brother writhing on the ground, but Ray, both arms now flung around his middle as a blood stained the back of his purple hoodie from fresh bullet holes. 

At that point-blank range, Michael knew it was fatal blow. 

“YOU BASTARD!” He snarled viciously, immediately arming the grenade in hand and tossing it between the legs of the henchman in front of him and under their vehicle. As the men panicked about the impending explosion, Michael ferociously lunged at the man in front of him, ripping the shotgun from his hands and flipping it around to fire rapidly at him while he was off guard.

The rest was a flurry of sandy dirt, blurs of red and the bangs of the firearms. Michael remembered throwing himself on top of Ray, rolling the two as far away from the blast as possible before jumping to his feet and finishing off the men who dared to attack them. 

His haze of rage subsided when he heard the wet cough from beside him. Both Ray’s car and the O’Neill’s truck sat in a flaming wreckage, burnt bodies with extra holes in them scattered about them as dark red stained the ground wet. Michael had managed to get himself and Ray a sufficient distance from the blow, Michael never leaving his side, but aiming the shotgun with deadly accuracy at the frightened group. Ray had lifted his head and aimed a shaky arm at the enemy group, pistol having fired a couple of incapacitating shots. He was a fighter too.

But now, the young man dropped the gun with a clatter, arm retreating back under his chest as he heaved another stuttering cough. Michael immediately dropped to his knees, gently probing the injury on Ray’s back, sickened to see the depth the bullets had penetrated. 

The bloodthirsty beast that appeared on the side of the road moments ago fled, replaced by a broken man as he knelt by his beloved partner. They both knew. As if the blood-soaked jacket wasn’t enough to go off of, the internal bleeding from vitals hit was obvious as well, indicated by the pained expression on Brownman’s face. 

He felt the wet sting of tears welling at the corner of his eyes, before they fell, warm and heavy down his dirty cheek. Ray struggled to reach a bloodied-smeared hand out to Michael, a need to comfort and dispel this sadness that besmirched his strong, loyal, loving Michael.

Michael desperately grabbed at his hand, clutching it close with a gripping strength of never letting it go.

“Ray.”

Said man smiled sadly, using every last ounce of strength to flip himself over onto his back to look at the face he loved so dearly. Red faintly bloomed on his chest as well, with more blood sluggishly slipping from that gash he had from the car crash and running into his mussed hair.

Michael leaned down to kiss the wounded area on Ray’s head, his tears dripping into Ray’s hair as they flowed relentlessly. Ray’s own eyes began to water. The prospects of everything lost and stolen from him was crashing ruthlessly upon him.

It honestly hurt more than the physical pain.

No more game nights spent laughing with the lads and gents. No more heist room planning with sharpie markers and cold drinks in hand. No more wild car chases with destruction in their wake. No more satisfaction of looking down the scope of his hot pink rifle and pegging the cashier before Gavin and Ryan swooped in for the robbery. No more of Geoff’s contagious laughter over the radio. No more divulging in Jack’s wonderful cooking or Gavin’s insane story telling.

No more cuddling the morning after a successful heist. With Michael’s head rested on top of his. With the sense of security being tucked against a broad chest and wrapped in strong arms. With a sunny laughter reverberating underneath his ear and blowing over his hair. 

Looking morosely up at the man who completed his life, Ray’s tears overflowed, a pitifully weak smile spreading across his thin lips. 

“I love you, Michael.”

Despite how adoring the words were, Michael felt a pang in his chest, something heavy settling where his heart would be. He let out a desperate sound, broken and helpless. 

“I love you.” Ray repeated again, his smile spreading a little wider before his eyes fluttered shut.

Another shattered gasp escaped Michael as he bent over Ray’s body, hand still clutching Ray’s loosened fingers, and the other tangled in his jacket. He wanted Ray’s voice to fill his ear again, say he was all right. That he’d never leave. But the unmoving chest beneath his forehead spoke volumes instead.

Unseen to anyone before, the mighty Mogar sat pitifully upon the dirt ground, wailing miserably over his greatest loss. 

He stayed there until the sirens of a firetruck and ambulance filled the silence. That’s how the paramedics found him, his hand cramped around the lifeless one still in his grasp, eyes still watering profusely.  
They knew this man. Mogar of the Fake AH crew. They also knew the casualty as well. Brownman. Who would have thought the renowned sniper would meet his end in such a manner. 

When they tried to dislodge Michael from the corpse, the men were only met with feral growling disrupted by sobs. So they took both Michael and Ray into the ambulance, the cops already arriving to bag the bodies of the O’Neill brothers at the scene. It was unnecessary, but the placed Ray’s body on a gurney, Michael demanding they try every resource they had, promising criminal sums of money, despite how futile everyone knew the situation to be. He never let go, tagging along in the back of the ambulance and sitting in the starched hospital room as he awaited the arrival of the rest of the crew.

Nothing was hooked up to Ray, but the paramedics had managed to stop the bleeding. A clean white sheet sat halfway up his body, Michael sitting at the head of the bed, still with Ray’s cold hand.

That’s how Geoff and the rest of the crew found him. A haunted, lost look in his eyes. 

\---------------------------------------------

The Fake AH crew went silent after that. The hospital was paid off with a hefty tip and the funeral had already gone and passed. Not a single attendant’s eyes were dry. The loss of a son, a comrade, a friend, a lover, a life partner.

When they returned, no one dared enter Ray’s room in the penthouse for weeks. Ryan finally braved the worst, daringly opening that door. Seeing the stacks of video games and the case for the young man’s hot pink rifle. Purple hoodies strewn messily upon the ground. Hot pink DS sat unused on the bedside table. He immediately vacated the room, but left the door open, a step in the crew’s need to cope.

Eventually everyone had paid their visit to the deceased’s room. They filtered through the items, keeping most out of sentiment, but knowing they couldn’t in order to move on. Geoff had approached Michael one night, sealed envelope in hand.

Both knew what it contained. In this business, life wasn’t always a guarantee.

The letter remained unopened for another month, sitting on Michael’s nightstand with Ray’s pair of glasses sitting on top. When he finally did crack open the envelope, the crew had finally gotten back into the field, the cogs in their workings not the same but still shakily functioning. If anything, their bonds had grown stronger, a stronger sense of comradery budding from the hardship they all felt. Now Michael sat alone on his bed, hand shaky as he peeled the seal off and began pulling the paper out.

__

“My Mogar,  
I love you. …”

At the first line, Michael felt the tears slip and drop onto the paper. The handwriting. The rose scented marker Ray had jokingly used. He could hear that strong voice in his head again, see those warm brown eyes and bright smile. 

It took the rest of the evening for Michael to read through the rest of Ray’s last letter to him. Not quite a will but a knowing message for when one of them meets their death to leave behind to those closest to them. Ray spoke of all the joyous times he had with Michael, how he fell in love with “that ridiculous hyena-laugh” and “that baby face smile that’s too innocent to be legal,” how he enjoyed “kicking Gavin’s ass in Minecraft” with him and “watching the explosions bring buildings down” together. 

Ray pleadingly asked for him to be okay. He spoke of the amazing friends they had around them, how they all needed each other and needed Michael. The letter was written with that hesitant tone of doing something so sappy, but each word genuine. It was so like Ray.

\--------------------------------------------- 

It took one more slow night for Michael to visit Ray’s grave. He clutched an envelope in one hand and a rose in the other. He gently placed both at the foot of the tombstone after caringly wiping every speck of dirt off its surface. With a soft kiss upon the stone, Michael stood and looked at the name etched into the stone.

“I love you, too, Ray.”

**Author's Note:**

> -hands out tissues- My apologies. Lostinthehaywoods motivated me to write and I decided to experiment with angst...so this happened. Big thanks to her for aiding in my writing muse and being my lovely beta!


End file.
